


show me the right way to go

by dansunedisco



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, F/M, Kissing, Mutual Pining, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8173205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/pseuds/dansunedisco
Summary: They slip away from the party separately as planned -- Sansa first, Jon second, to rendezvous in the stairwell. Sansa’s only mildly anxious when Jon’s half a minute late -- he’s a professional, after all -- but he shows up as she’s adjusting her thigh holster, and all is well.

-
AKA: spies in love.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'spies' by coldplay ;)

They slip away from the party separately as planned -- Sansa first, Jon second, to rendezvous in the stairwell. Sansa’s only mildly anxious when Jon’s half a minute late -- he’s a professional, after all -- but he shows up as she’s adjusting her thigh holster, and all is well. “You’re late,” she accuses without heat.

“And you started without me,” he replies. He twitches his jacket sleeve back to check the time. “Come on, let’s go.” 

They only have fifteen minutes to break into Tywin Lannister’s suite and inject the server virus that will bring Casterly Rock to its knees, so she saves her tart reply for later. Jon takes point, and Sansa sticks close behind. They find their destination without issue or interruption, and Sansa types in the combination she stole the day prior. The door clicks open. She and Jon share a quick smile.

Tywin’s office is large and immaculate; floor-to-ceiling windows allows ambient light from the city in, and it doesn’t take much searching to find the cabinet where the private server is kept under padlock and key.

“Old school,” Jon remarks, and Sansa fingers at the tripwire with barely concealed disgust. 

“I have the door,” she says, and goes to guard while Jon works at dismantling the lock. She unholsters her gun and keeps it at the ready. _Breathe_ , she tells herself. _Count it down._

Waiting is always the worst part. Nearly every agent she knows would trade the anxiety-fraught in-between for the rush of action -- not because they’re adrenaline junkies, though some are, but because the looming threat of _everything could go wrong_ hangs heaviest in the quiet. The clock on Tywin’s desk tick-ticks in time with the heavy beat of her heart, and she strains to cast her hearing further down the hall. Sam warned them they would be going in blind -- the most he could do is give them a short window on the security cam footage -- and she wishes, not for the first time tonight, that she had someone in her ear feeding her real-time information.

“I’m almost done,” Jon whispers, and she hears a soft whir as something reboots itself. She glances back to see him close the server panel and stand. Her stomach swoops at the sight of him. She has always known Jon to be handsome, but the image of him trimmed up and in a well-tailored tux nearly takes her breath away. It’s a foolish thought to have, especially smackdab in the middle of their mission -- and rightly so, because as soon as she’s done admonishing herself over it, she hears the telltale click of shoes-on-floor.

Her eyes widen. “Shit,” she breathes, a sentiment Jon repeats with a harsher curse, and they dart out the office together. The stairwell exit is too far away to escape unseen, and Sansa indulges in panic for a split second. Two people outside the party isn’t suspicious in of itself -- but two people outside the boss’s office when travel to this wing of the building is roped off certainly is. She’s about to suggest guns, despite their earlier agreement to minimize collateral damage, when Jon turns and grabs her hip to tug her close to him.

“What are you doing?” she asks, hands automatically coming up against his chest.

“Trust me,” he says, and then he’s walking her to an alcove and _kissing_ her. What comes out of her mouth could be categorized as a squeak -- but she quickly melts against him because _of course_ Jon Snow would use the oldest trick in the book to weasel them out of this mess. She arches up against him just as the security guards come around the corner, and she gives an obscene and very fake moan for their benefit.

“Hey!” one of them snaps. “What are you two doing up here?”

Jon pulls away from her slowly, the color of his cheeks a high red, and Sansa nearly laughs at the glazed look on his face. Still, she's sure she doesn't look less affected. She's wanted to kiss Jon for over a year now -- ever since he rappelled into the Dreadfort to rescue her from a mission gone bad and she learned after the fact that he disobeyed direct orders from Olenna to do so. They bullshit their way through an excuse, playing up their drunk and newlywed personas, and the guards let them go. Sansa nearly collapses against Jon’s side in the elevator, muscles like limp noodles from the rush of adrenaline, stunned that they were let off so easily. 

“We were believable,” Jon explains. His voice is rougher than usual, a sure fire sign that he is brooding over something he did. “That's why they didn't question it.”

The elevator reaches the party level before Sansa can reply, and they re-enter the party arm in arm. It's a tense half hour of mingling wherein Sansa combs through the past year of her and Jon’s relationship and realizes that, for all of her being the _brains_ of their team, she has been terribly dense. She's been in love with Jon since he punched Ramsay Bolton square in the jaw, and intuition now tells her he's been in the same boat for just as long. It’s the only explanation for his sullen frown, surely thinking he’s taken terrible advantage of her and feeling guilty because he _liked_ kissing her. For someone who is, more or less, a government-sanctioned badass, Jon Snow takes himself far too seriously, in Sansa’s humble opinion.

They leave before the party winds down, and Sansa whips her blonde wig off as soon as they’ve driven off into the night. Now that she’s paying attention, she sees the way Jon looks at her when she does it -- grey eyes dark and intense -- and remembers a throwaway comment he made months ago about liking red hair. _Have you been dropping hints all this time?_

Other than calling Sam to confirm mission success, they stay silent all the way to the safehouse. Jon tucks in close behind her as she tries -- and fails -- to unlock the door; even after years of this life, she still shakes when she’s in the clear. She leans back against him, defeated, and he takes the keys with a laugh.

“Every time,” he murmurs, and walks her inside with a warm, steady hand on her waist. It’s not the first time they’ve been so close, or even required more than an assist after a particularly brutal mission, but Sansa distinctly remembers the feel of him as they were kissing, and she realizes it wouldn’t take much effort at all to turn around and continue -- _for real_ \-- what they were doing in that alcove. Her pulse jumps at the thought, and she pins Jon’s hand against her when he goes to draw away. She turns around.

“Sansa…”

Jon says her name like a warning, but she sees the way his pupils widen, black eclipsing grey. They’ve already wasted so much time as it is, she thinks, being dumb and oblivious both. She doesn’t want to waste another second. “I’m going to kiss you because I _want_ to. I really, really do. So don’t tell me I’m not thinking straight,” she says, looking him dead-on.

He searches her eyes for a long moment, and she knows she’s convinced him when he gives her a small smile. “I wouldn’t dare.” 

She kisses him then. This one is altogether different than their first, slower and sweeter because they both know it’s real.

The next morning, they will wake up to the world changed. The Lannisters destroyed their family, and the justice they’ve been seeking all these years is about to unfold -- but that’s tomorrow, and she’s happy living in the perfect now.


End file.
